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lucasthecoffeshopguy · 1 month

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Voldemort as a Hogwarts teacher but he's as he was the night of his resurrection, with the scales that glitter and sharp fangs and long split tongue and pointed ears and red eyes with slitted pupils and everyone is fucking terrified of him (except the older years who are scared, yeah, but just grateful to have a decent teacher while they take their wizarding SATs and ACTs because holy shit voldemort is actually really good at teaching who knew).

The one person who is fully unafraid is Harry Potter, more curious about the situation than anything. He desperately wanted to know why his prophesied enemy would abandon his goals of killing him, why he would do something as mundane as teach at Hogwarts. Harry was, of course, grateful to at least have a decent teacher in his OWL year, but he was still so curious.

Valentine's day rolled around as always, just as terrible as always, but Voldemort is spared from such a unique evil. Nobody dares to piss off He-who-shall-not-be-named... well, everyone except for Harry, who anonymously sends voldemort a single pure white rhododendron cluster and a modest box of chocolates. There are about 2 dozen small bites in the small, dark and warm wooden box with slight red undertones, wrapped in a thick green velvet strip with gold lettering that spells "Voldemort". It is gorgeous. Everyone looks at the luxurious gifts on their teacher's desk and wonders how he will react when he arrives.

The answer is that he won't. When Voldemort enters the classroom from the hall he simply glides over to his desk as usual, pausing only for a moment as he sees the cluster of flowers and what was no doubt a box of chocolates, and vanishes the offerings with a single wave of his hand. For some reason the class of 7th years seems disappointed, they really were curious about the potential love life of such an intimidating man.

What they don't know is that Voldemort didn't vanish the chocolates and flowers into the abyss, but rather teleported them to his coffee table in his personal living quarters. What they don't see is Voldemort carefully examining the flowers, amused by the meaning of such delicate white petals.

They could be a threat, a subtle message that the chocolates are poisoned, the anonymous gifter eager to see if he will parse out the message and avoid whatever fate the possibly laced dessert would lead them to. The message could also be a more heartfelt one, the sender promising to give him everything they can, riches and gifts and protection. Or maybe the flower's meaning was not for him, but rather for the sender themself. Maybe they were simply nervous, and hoped that the flowers would help them reach out to Voldemort.

That's something that always irked him, the convoluted and non-standard victorian flower code. Now, however, it send a thrill down his spine. He has no idea what the flowers mean, what the intentions behind it were. There is no note to be found, not in the box of chocolates, not on his desk. The only way to find out what it means is to wait, and enjoy the gifts he has been sent.

And so, Voldemort enjoyed the chocolates, picking at them throughout the week. Hopefully this anonymous person would continue their efforts, Voldemort always loved a good puzzle.

#harrymort #harry potter #voldemort #practicing my grammar here lowkey #punctuation is difficult but i'm quite pleased with the results #might have to write a full length fic with this concept because I love horcrux Harry and I love a crack premise #crack treated seriously #btw #This started off as my usual style of post but I couldn't resist spending an hour turning it into something I am actually proud of

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dreaminrainbows · 4 months

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Sometimes i have this wish where i want to sit and interview Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson (not necessary to be together),where there're no blacklisted topics so i can ask them questions like " Louis, do you know the difference between Parmigianino cheese, parma ham and childish theories?" Or "Harry, what was that with the horse noises it was a simple yes or no question, no need to write an essay about the meaning of poetry to people about it?" Or like " so, exactly how many ai created pics have you seen of Harry, Louis?" Or " my dude what's with wmyb and falling in love to that song, it was literally overplayed in 2010? You're the only person alive who listens to it out of their own free will, i swear!! So what's with that?" and etc...

Just so i can watch them squirm and stutter and sweat and stumble over their words for my personal amusement, kicks and giggles.

Just to watch 15 years of media training go down the drain the minute the other's name is mentioned.

A girl can dream...

#louis tomlinson #louis and harry #larry stuff #harry styles #larry stylison #one direction #meme #crack jokes #chickengate

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sky-is-the-limit · 7 months

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Some musty ass man humping the screen with a König/Ghost cosplay and a MDNI facade in his profile:

The girlies:

#we're down for the fictional ones #not the unwashed ass crack mfs who act like 2013 wattpad Harry Styles bad boi trope #the misandrist in me is crying #call of duty #cod #könig #ghost #simon ghost riley #captain price

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cutecrackships98 · 9 months

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#harry styles #taylor swift #crack ship #haylor

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ihearthes · 6 months

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Half of my dash is "I hate it. I'm in mourning. How dare he do this without consulting me?!" The other half of my dash is "Not normally my fave look, but on Harry -- damn. He still looks amazing."

All of my dash is full of "HIS HAND ON HER NECK! 🤤"

#harry styles #love you all!#cracking me up #I'm fine with it #Not my preference but it will grow back #and yeah...#the neck thing is 🔥🥵#buzz cut

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mississpissi · 1 year

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i had a dream last night that i started a math tutoring business and kim kitsuragi and harry dubois showed up bc apparently harry forgot how to do math and kim needed him to learn but harry kept sneaking outside to run around in the woods on my backyard and kim was just standing outside with him watching and i went to go tell them to come back inside so we could finish our lesson when harry tripped and sliced his head open on a rock. that was it. that was the dream. i haven’t played disco elysium in a couple of months btw.

#i always have very vivid dreams and this one was like. half in the art style of the game and half real life?#it was really pretty outside until harry cracked his head #disco elysium

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sleepless-stories · 8 months

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Who's Your Daddy~~

Summary: You X Harry Styles X Pedro Pascal You are an actor, and much more. Pedro is your hotty daddy costar in a new up and coming movie. And Harry Styles is your past Ex

Warnings: Mischaracterization of everyone, vague smut, blood play (Mild), incest implied?, varying descriptions of Harry Styles eye color

DISCLAIMER: I fucking hate this and it's all a joke.... please help it's the first thing I've written in almost a year

You are a Hollywood actor, model, millionaire, and trapeze artist. Recently you broke up with your long but short time boyfriend, Harry Styles. Together you were a power couple for two to three weeks. Sadly you broke up over beliefs on animal sentience. It was harrowing, so, so sad.

Anyway! This week you finally got a new gig, in an upcoming blockbuster, box office shattering, but box office bombing movie! And you’ve managed to get the lead role! Today’s the day you’re going into the studio for script reading.

You get up bright and early, at 3am. A red glow filling your apartment with warmth and love, glancing over you see your small but life sized night light of Pedro Pascal’s beautiful, daddy material, face. Slowly but sensually you get up from your bed, violently tossing your covers to the floor. Turning on your overhead light, brightness fills your room. Your room isn’t large, but it isn’t small either. Your bed sits up against a corner, bright colored sheets that fall somewhere on the color spectrum cover your bed. Your walls, a lovely, pale yet bright color, covered in posters of your absolute Idol. Your idol over course, Pedro Pascal. Some ripped remains of old posters are also still tacked up against your walls… posters of your previous love, though he shouldn’t be named after what he did to you. You open your closet up grabbing the perfect outfit for the day, a heavy, light but dark colored cropped sweater, booty shorts with neon glittery letters saying “baby” on the ass, and thigh high but knee length boots. Putting it on you feel ready to slay the day away. You do your hair and your minimal face routine before eating a small but large and filling meal, first of many meals of the day. You sit down on your comfy but rather hard couch, pulling out your ambiguously branded phone. Unlocking it you quickly open your favorite but least liked app, Tinder™, ready to swipe your minutes away mostly to the left because nobody meets your high but low maintenance standards.

Minutes then hours pass by, in a breeze that’s going a mild 5 mph or 8 kmh. Soon, but after a while it finally turned 12pm. Putting your phone on its unplugged charger, you carefully grab your coat and start preparing for your script reading at 11am. Leaving now you’d probably be early by about forty two minutes.

You head out the door of your one story, single person, not rented, high rise apartment complex. Getting into your luxury but not exactly economy class Lotus Evija. Driving a moderate speed equal to the speed limit, but much under. You arrive at the perfect time of 10:09 am. Many people were arriving, though almost nobody was at the studio yet.

Getting out of your car you head into the studio building, finding your way to the conference room the table reading would be performed in. The moment you open up the glass, clearly see through the door, that is too clear to be able to fully see through, you notice him. Pedro Pascal sits in, but not on, one of the chairs at the long conference table… and he is looking as, good… no! great! Perfect! As ever. His looks are so effortless but highly maintained as ever. Delicately you trip into the room falling onto your face immediately. A hand grabs your shoulder, gently helping pull you up from the floor, and there… standing before you… Is someone you’ve never seen before, they were… ok looking? In their stupid floral, plaid, striped, polka dotted, rainbow colored, outfit. They were certainly no Pedro Pascal.

You stand gently but very obviously pushing the person away, “um thanks, but keep your…” you glance over them again before frowning, “hands off of me… I’m trying to stay looking good.”

“Well… It’s fine, you’re looking rather beautiful/handsome.”

“Awe thank you, you’re looking like a solid three.”

“Wow, thank you for that, I was feeling like a two this morning but with your compliment I’m feeling more like a four.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself now.” You smile sweetly patting the other’s head before pulling out a chair and sitting down. You just so happened to pick the chair right next to Pedro’s out of all 10 of the open chairs.

Pedro turns to you smiling perfectly, “Good afternoon, you must be y/n.”

“I am! How-how did you know my name?”

“Oh, well you’re wearing a name tag.”

“OH.” You glance down at your shirt remembering the name tag you had been given before walking into the room before. “Yes… It’s amazing to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, I’ll be acting as your love interest in the movie.”

“My l-love interest?” You quickly grab for the script that sits before you, flipping through the pages of it memorizing every line already thanks to your photographic memory. “There’s some… pretty um in-intimate scenes in this script,” you stutter blushing brightly.

“There do seem to be.” Pedro nodded, opening up the script, “Maybe we’ll have to meet after this to have extra practice with the scripts.”

“Take me away daddy…” You mumble before realizing what you just said. “Shit! I mean sure! Want…Want to maybe d-do it at your place?” You ask blushing rather brightly at the proposition.

Pedro nods, attractively, “Of course. I’ll give you my address. We may take a while to do it, so make sure to bring a bag.”

“I’ll remember. Want to maybe, um, possibly meet up at a restaurant downtown first? We could get dinner and talk before heading to your place to start going over the script and practicing.”

“We’ll go to my favorite restaurant, Hoobee’s House.” Pedro suggested, attractively.

“Oooo that’s so exotic! I’ve never heard of that place.” You agree immediately, if it was his favorite place you just had to go.

“Yeah it’s like if Applebee’s, Hooters, and Waffle House had a threesome.” “Oooo, we should definitely go.”

Pedro nodded and handed you his unlocked phone to have your number put in. Naturally you give him your number, 605–477–3018.

After giving him your number most of the other few, about 30 people walk into the room taking their seats. The script reading begins, you naturally give the best performance anyone had ever heard in their lives, fucking amateurs.

-Timeskip-

The script reading had gone well, it took a few hours but it was all worth it being able to sit so close to Daddy Pascal for hours. You finally got home by the time it was 5 Post Meridiem, quickly you pack a bag of your sexiest outfits and head out to the restaurant. Tossing your bag into the back seat of your Toyota Corolla, you drive over to downtown to see your love.

You park on the sidewalk, blocking a door to a local orphanage, firehouse, combo. You get out of the exotic supercar and start to walk down the street.

“Y/N!”

You hear your name, but don’t turn, because of how grossly famous you are. It’s probably paparazzi and fans like always.

A hand suddenly grabs your arm, but it’s not startling, it feels almost familiar… You turn facing the other. The world feels like it slows down for a moment as you look into his eyes. It’s like you’re the only two people in the world for a few moments.

You lean a bit closer to him, whispering in a quiet but sensual tone, “Animals aren’t fucking sentient.”

“I’m Harry Styles,” your famous ex responds.

You stand there, with Harry’s hand on your forearm, looking into his beautiful eyes that remind you of wet dirt after a hurricane.

“I… what are you doing here? Don’t you live in Australia?”

“I just missed you, I couldn’t live without you, Y/N. Please, I’m sorry! I’ll agree animals have no souls, for you love.”

“Y/N?” another voice calls out, this voice very distinctly… Daddy.

You turn to see… Pedro Pascal. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be late.”

“No it’s fine… you’re an hour early, I’m the one who was late.”

“Who is this?” Harry asks. He’s staring at Pedro with his glowing orbs that remind you of the clouds on a sunny afternoon day during a horrible tornado. He looks almost entranced… he looks at Pedro with more love than he’s ever stared at you with.

“Well, I’m Pedro Pascal.”

“Daddy,” you cough out, under your breath.

“I’m Harry Styles.”

Harry lets go of your arm stepping closer to Pedro, holding out his hand. “It’s enchanting to meet you.”

The two men shake hands, standing a bit closer than necessary, staring into each other's eyes as their hands are firmly grasped together. Harry’s eyes looking almost like crushed starlight before a supernova, Pedro’s eyes looking… attractive.

“Y/N, would you be ok if we all skipped dinner. We could eat back at my place.” Pedro suggested.

Well you had heard that Pedro was a decent chef, no articles had ever mentioned him burning down a kitchen before. “Sure! I’d love that!” you agree without hesitation.

Everyone went back down the street, getting into your Ford Focus. Pedro gave directions as you drove to his mansion.

Pedro’s house was ginormous, though rather modest and quaint. The place was covered in gold and marble.

As soon as the car was parked Pedro pulled you and Harry into the house immediately, shutting the door behind you both once inside.

Suddenly without even realizing it all three of you were in Pedro’s bed, a small Alaskan king.

Clothes were gone.

You laid there beneath the two, looking at them sexually. You look up seeing Harry’s voluptuous disks of burning camembert cubes inside of a blackhole. Then there’s Pedro Pascal, “daddy,” you accidentally let slip out as you stare at his large sexy deep nose pores.

“Oh what’s that you called me?” Pedro asks you, his voice full of attraction.

You are about to respond when you feel something very… distinct enter you. Only a moan leaves you. Your eyes shut focusing on the feeling, though moments after when you open them all you see is Harry and Daddy Pascal making out, erotically.

As you watch them the pleasure continues to build up, something wet starts dripping down… your face.

Harry’s hand gently glides under your nose, his hand pulls away covered in your blood. He stares down at you with his beautiful pools of oceanic eyes during a volcanic explosion. Slowly he starts licking your blood off of his hand, eyes closed in pleasure as he cleans the blood of your nose off of his delicate fingers.

You gasp watching, your nose gushing a bit more. Though soon more than that gushes.

The three of you soon lay there on the bed, cuddled up close together under the covers. Daddy Pascal holding you close and gently running his hand through your hair.

“Thank you, daddy… and Harry.” you whisper.

Though suddenly you start to hear a familiar song, backstreet boys… Your mother is calling.

The Caller ID reads: Kris Jenner.

Pedro happens to see it as he reaches for your phone to hand it to you, and he suddenly freezes. “Kris?”

“Oh, well that’s my mom,” you explain reaching for the phone out of his hand.

“How old are you?”

“I’m…”

Pedro nods, releasing your phone, “I think I’m… your father.”

“Oh… well I guess you really are a daddy then.”

“I guess I certainly am.” Pedro smirks, kissing you carnally before he leans over you, kissing Harry too in a passionate manner. “I also suppose this was wonderful practice for our movie.”

#x reader #pedro pascal #harry styles #crack fic #real person fiction #reader insert #not a serious post #horrible descriptions of eyes

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jellyfishstars0 · 4 months

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i just found the very cursed fic my friends and i once wrote at a sleepover. we published it on wattpad and im sorry for the 138 who read it.

#its crazy #harry styles/oikawa/gojo/female original character #theres also mpreg #its so cursed tbh #but theres worse #fanfiction #wattpad #crack fic

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fierceawakening · 1 year

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I don’t know how to explain it and I feel like I’ve never explained it well. It’s more that when I read Pratchett I feel an intense sort of second hand embarrassment on behalf of the characters. I don’t know how to describe this well, because it doesn’t seem like others feel it.

But like… the best way to hint at it is… like. I see the name “Cheery Littlebottom” and my immediate thought is not “haha” so much as it’s “what a field day bullies would have with someone called Cheery. And that’s before we even get to Bottom.”

In order to recognize “this is a silly name for a dwarf and a reference to a real world movie” I have to sort of… pull myself out of the narrative, have a chuckle, and reinsert myself again. If i don’t go through this process I tend to just find myself asking why instead of laughing.

I’m not sure why Pratchett especially induces this reaction in me. With some others, like Douglas Adams, I felt a little second hand embarrassment at first but then got past it as the whole way the verse worked was just… like that.

With Pratchett there’s something that gets in the way of my being able to go with the flow in the same way, so instead of feeling in on the joke I feel like I’m watching people get humiliated.

So I feel uncomfortable, in a way I don’t think most people do. Protective of the characters, as if I want to shield them from their author. But then just weird, because I’m not invested in them because I LIKE them, I don’t even know them yet. I’m just… worried their Author is making them too cringey and they need some protecting.

And then Pratchett is held up as this… super moral voice of ethical clarity, and I can’t see it because of this sense I have he treats his characters badly.

Does that make it any clearer or does that just make it worse?

#i worried Harry Potter would come off this way to me too #but managed to get into it #still not a style I’d pick to write myself #I’d worry about slipping into mean #where I’m… okay with exposing my characters to violence or tragedy #because I feel confident I can show their resilience #or have it mean something if they’re not #but the idea That I might make THEM laughingstocks #rather than have them crack wise and that be funny #Uneasiness City #i tell ya

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